


pretty burn

by girljustdied



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2019-10-08 23:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17395349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girljustdied/pseuds/girljustdied
Summary: cook and effy light shit on fire, fist-fight, and fuck.





	pretty burn

**Author's Note:**

> prompt was "you just burn."

He can be quiet. It’s not a shock—not exactly. She remembers telling him that she’d once not made a single sound for almost thirty-six days. Had to work to keep the pride out of her voice, let it dull and rasp with the sound of cool detachment. He’d snorted in amusement as he scrawled their names on the wall above her headboard with a thick magic marker, asked her, “Yeah? Why not thirty-seven, Princess?” Wrote a big “37” next.

He gets it, and he shouldn’t. It irks her. She’d always felt that the fundamental difference between the two of them was strength of will; she had it, he didn’t. With her it was all about choice. No impulse, no need—and if one crept up on her she’d surely squash it immediately. Cook gave into every urge possible. Ate all the fucking cake. Puked it up.

“That’s where you’re wrong, see?” He’d tugged and twisted a lock of her hair around an index finger. “I’m absolutely dedicated … to doing whatever the fuck.”

But he can be quiet. He can even be still; no restless tapping and flexing of his fingers, no feet beating out a rhythm only he can hear. He lies on his back on the floor next to her bed, eyes staring up at her ceiling, gaze glassy and sightless—doesn’t even hum.

If she closes her eyes up on top of the bed and breathes deep and even, draws her covers up over her head, she could forget that he’s there. He shouldn’t be. She’s with Freddie now. For real. Love.

The sound of Cook lighting a cigarette is an honest relief. What a joke. She crawls out from under the sheets, sticks her arm over the side of the bed and filches his lighter. Gets a flame started, holds it close to the bed.

She doesn’t say a thing. Dares him to be the one to speak first. He’s beat up, his face is a bleeding mess, there’s blood on his clothes. She sees it even under his fingernails when he reaches up and touches her wrist with his fingertips. Pushes the flame all the way down into the fabric.

They both jump up in shock when it lights, flares up. There’s only vodka in her water bottle. She grabs a towel slung over a bedpost without thinking and tries to pat it out. Cook follows her lead with one of her favorite jumpers, and when they actually manage to get the fire out they both wheeze breathlessly—silently—amazed that something just happened.

Finally.

She hits his shoulder. Hard. So he shoves at her a little—frustrated, probably, but still won’t say anything aloud. Catches her hand when she moves to hit him again. So she kicks his shin and manages to land a glancing punch to his cheek with her left fist instead.

He touches the spot she hit on reflex before tackling her down to the ground, her head slamming against the frame of her bed as she scrambles to end up on top. He’s not gentle with her, all teeth and limbs twisting painfully, one hand fisted so tight in her hair it's practically ripping some out.

“We’re equals, yeah?” he’d once murmured, fingertips poking a painful bruise on her forearm. He wasn’t really talking about the fights and the fucks and how his mouth tasted like blood, but sorta was as well. All the same when you got right down to it.

Effy’d been quiet then. Hadn’t said a word.

She tries to pin him to the floor now, but he’s easily fitter and flips their positions without breaking a sweat. Holds her at the insides of her elbows, his hips jutting down against hers between her legs. Looks at her for a long moment.

“What are you waiting for?” she finally growls. It’s all wrong. Her voice should be cool, and calm, and edged with mocking in regard to the status of his bollocks.

He doesn’t grin like she thought he would. Shakes his head slightly; a small muscle twitches in his cheek.

“Nothin’. Fuckin’ nothin’, babe.”

Crushes his mouth to hers.


End file.
